When the Phone Rings
by Gurubiness
Summary: Kotoko, Haruhi... The favourite girls. All in one afternoon in the life of Fujioka Ranka... o n e - s h o t


O, MY LORD. This is my first thing posted in... years. Years and years, guys, really.

...

And in all honesty?

I'M CHEATING.

This was just originally the log sample to my Ranka application at a role-play... (community: polychromatic, at livejournaldotcom, if anyone's interested :D)

But I was fond of it. I really get into the characterisation of Ranka, myself... I enjoyed this (too much), and I hope you will, too! (o; w ;)/

Review if you want. 9o9 Thank you for reading.

Risen from the dead,

Matty

(Erm. As a note. OTL LiveJournal enables small fonts and stars and hearts and such, while... FanFictiondotnet does not. Which extremely bothers me, if anyone cares about that, too. :D' But some things are really off that I had applied in the application originally, so... 8C ...This was a pointless note. If anyone cares about this, either, it just _might_ have been Kyouya who hung up, as well! :D BUT I WILL NOT REVEAL THINGS. DRAW YOUR OWN CONCLUSIONS. Sorry for lack of sparklestars and epic formatting... ; v ;)

* * *

The incense carried a scent of strawberries and passionfruit throughout the small apartment that morning. It sat burning in its small bowl in the batsudan, vases of elegant white lilies beside it. The smoke curled through the air around the framed face of a beautiful, smiling woman; a woman who never let anything stop her, upset her, slow her down; who bore through even the roughest times with great ambition and, always, a gorgeous smile on her face and a promising sparkle in her eyes. Those eyes always looked straight into his own eyes, and through his whole body, through his heart, straight into his own soul; and even looking there, they never showed anything but warm, embracing love.

Brown eyes looked down to a tray of food sitting upon the table, beside a decorative - yet meaningful - bouquet display of lotus flowers. This food was untouched as of yet, but still a culinary beauty... The recipe was left to this mini-chef by the woman whose even more beautiful face was captured in the frame on the altar. Her stay in the hospital weighed heavy on his heart; scribbling recipes and notes, letters, down in little journals very casually, smiling even on her deathbed. She even handled all the paperwork and legal matters herself... which was particularly agonising to him, though she _was_ a lawyer. It was that practical nature -- the fact that she knew this sickness would eventually kill her, and she needed to acknowledge that -- that he respected and honoured so much; she was realistic, so unlike himself.

Steam rose off the rice in his bowl lazily. Haruhi was realistic; she was just as practical as her mother. She made all the food just right, and took the same enjoyment out of cooking new things. There was no denying that this girl was Kotoko's daughter; in personality, or in beauty. It made him endlessly proud. _Kotoko, I know you're proud, too-- of Haruhi._

Picking up the wooden chopsticks slowly, he lifted some of the food into his mouth. Just as good as always. Next to the pink cat stuffed animal, the clock on the television set behind him read two o'clock, precisely. Haruhi was still at school -- at the prestigious Ouran Academy, specifically. Her grades were astounding, being so smart -- just like her mother, again. Being someone who didn't even attend high school, let alone excel in it, he had to value those things about his two favourite and most important girls. Whatever Haruhi would ever want to do in life, she could achieve it; of course it would be much more than a liquor store clerk or a hostess, but already she was in the Host Club at her school... So who knew! Not that he'd be disappointed, of course. Then he could share his tricks, and give her pointers, and they could share advice together about customers, and maybe even drop in on each other during work sometimes!

He grinned, practically wiggling with girlish excitement as he continued at his late lunch.

"Ahh-- Kotochan, you wouldn't mind if Haru was a Hostess, right! " he said out loud, beaming at the photo in the altar as if expecting a reply. A smirk. "As I thought! Haruhi can do anything! Hah!"

Finishing off the remainders of his warmed-up meal in silence, but not entirely in solitude, Ranka arranged the dishes on the tray with a light smile, humming a cheerful tune. Standing up, he swished them over to the sink in the next room.  


With a flick of his long, well-managed hair, Ranka went to dance into his closet to pick out today's gorgeous outfit. But at that moment, a telephone rang. His eyes lighting up, he leapt over the low wooden table, snatching up his cell phone from his purse with what most people would consider far too much energy. The ID read "Ootori Kyouyakun " specifically, but this person didn't even bother to read it.

"Hellooooooo Fujioka Ranka! How may I--" he began in a singsong chirp, hand-motioning despite the fact that... his conversation partner really couldn't see him.

"RANKASAN, WHERE'S HAAAARUHI?" a familiar voice cried out desperately through the speaker. The man's cheerful attitude plummeted, his smile morphing into a terrible scowl.

"Taa maa kii saan You LOST MY DAUGHTER?!" he replied ominously, tone ending in a loud growl. Incorrigible bug! Terrible! Perverted! Heinous! First he tries to force _the precious daughter, Haru,_ into **engaging in improper things** with his perverted, womanising self, and then he _loses_ her?! No! No! No!

Ranka was barely thinking of listening to the boy's whining excuses -- not that they were very clear, anyhow, let alone sensible. Where could Haruhi be? Why wasn't she at the Host Club? It was Thursday, and school has just let out, and she didn't attend any other clubs... His eyes dashed to Kotoko's picture. _ZUKA CLUB?!_ Was his daughter kidnapped for the third time by the high-class, beautiful, artistic, feminist, yet suspiciously masculine or even lesbianistic girls of the Lobelia Academy that Kotoko had once been so fond of!? Unforgivable! HARUHI DID NOT KISS THINGS. Except puppies! Or kitties! Or Daddy! As it was quite requisite for her to kiss Daddy or for Daddy to kiss her at least once a (week) month, even though she was sixteen.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh, Haaaaaruuuuuuhiiii!!" came the whining voice again, with a new tone of relieved happiness as it faded away from the phone. Ranka's attention perked up, as he all but shoved the cell into his ear. He could faintly make out the murmur of the very familiar voice of Fujioka Haruhi. "Test." "After class." "Answers." _Kyaaaaaaa!! __ What a studious, wonderful baby girl!! __ Go, Haruhi, Go!_

"Daddy was so wooooooorried, Haaaruhiii!" came Tamaki's way-too-loud voice again. Ranka's eyes nearly popped out. _Daddy? DADDY!?_

"INSECT, WHO IS DADDY?! DON'T YOU SAY THAT!! WANNABE!! HAAARUHI, DADDY REALLY WAS WORRIED! COME TO THE PHONE SWEETHEART!! WHAT'S THAT PIG DOING!? HARUHIII?! HARUHIII!!" the man cried out loudly and desperately.

But no response came except a click, and the sound of a dial-tone. Ended call. With a theatrical display of shock, Fujioka Ranka threw himself to the floor in over-the-top despair, the cell phone sliding across the floor in front of the batsudan altar. _Haaaaaaaruhiiiii... __hung up on Papa..._


End file.
